


Let me be without regret

by WhisperingDarkness



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin Family, Changing history like a pro, Family Feels, Gen, No beta we die like Assassins, One Shot, Time Travel Fix-It, Who needs clothes anyway?, that's kind of the point, well actually they don't die in this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25126561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingDarkness/pseuds/WhisperingDarkness
Summary: That time Desmond wore a white sheet (and also changed history).
Comments: 100
Kudos: 987
Collections: Good Shit To Read Again AKA GSTRA





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

**That time Desmond wore a white sheet**

**(and also changed history)**

* * *

In the end there was only one choice he could make. It was too late to do anything else, if he didn’t then the world would burn. At least this way there was a chance – Rebecca, Shaun, his father, they would go on to fight against Juno. 

There would be hope. For them.

So Desmond stepped forward, feeling oddly calm at the knowledge of his own death. To be honest, he’d expected it to come for some time now, when he was kidnapped by the Templars, when he entered the Animus time and again and his mind grew fragile and slipped further into memories not his own while his body wasted away. 

He was never meant to survive all of that.

The others left, just as he’d urged them to, and Desmond allowed himself one more moment to just… be.

Then he put his hand on the pedestal.

It was bright - around him, inside of him. There was a feeling of burning, of his body splitting apart at the seams. The moment lasted impossibly long, encompassing all that lay ahead of it into the endlessness of time and space and reaching back to all that had come before. And beyond the pain there were numbers, calculations swirling around in his mind and he knew somehow that they corresponded to memories.

There were two that stood out, that Desmond unwittingly reached for. Defining moments, moments he regretted more than anything. 

It was sixteen year old him making the first true choice in his life – to run away from the farm, from the harsh training and strict rules, from what felt like a prison away from the rest of the world.

He didn’t exactly regret his years as a civilian and yet he _did_ \- because he’d never seen his mother again, because he hadn’t been prepared for what was to come and that had been his own damn fault, no-one else’s. And his parents, even if he didn’t agree with them, even if most of the time they’d been more like trainers than anything… they were still his parents.

Desmond couldn't help but wonder how things would have turned out had he stayed.

There was another moment that his mind caught on, that it couldn’t move past, and this one wasn’t even _his_. It was Ezio, pushing through the crowd, mind numb and body slow with disbelief when that traitor listed the crimes his father and brothers were charged with. He could still remember Giovanni’s angry rebuttal, Federico’s slumped form and downcast eyes, and little Petruccio’s look of horror as he realised what was about to happen.

That moment had never stopped haunting Ezio. The pain had dulled in his later life, but the Italian Assassin had never been able to truly forget. 

It haunted Desmond too.

Those turning points, both of them an end of things and just as much a beginning of what was to follow, Desmond’s mind was enveloped by them, unable to let go or to _be_ let go.

They hurt, almost as much as the physical pain, but this pain was familiar and he didn’t even try to fight it. What would be the point? Here at the end of it all? So Desmond let it in, accepted the regrets and had the vague thought of how he _should have done better_.

Then the light overwhelmed him completely, his body destroyed - reduced to its very atoms. 

And there was nothing at all.

* * *

When he became aware of himself again, Desmond found that he was lying down. His body felt warm and there was the oddest itch beneath his skin, like a thousand small needles pricking him. 

The next thing he became aware off was sound. There were voices in the distance, not Rebecca and Shaun talking or any single conversation, but a low background noise of many voices mixed together.

He opened his eyes and had to close them again against the light. When Desmond carefully opened them again, he found that the light was not the harsh blue-ish light of Isu objects but actual daylight.

Huh.

He sat up slowly and took inventory of himself and his surroundings. He was on a flat roof. The warmth he was feeling came from the morning sun that had been shining unhindered on his bare skin.

He was very much naked.

That wasn’t the most worrying part, though. 

His body was… different. It was his own, and yet not – the haircut was the same as he had worn it since his teens, but he was smaller and yet more muscled than Desmond had been just moments – centuries? - before.

And his tattoo was missing.

He stood up, looking around for a mirror or anything else to tell him what the hell was going on. What his eyes found instead was a nearby alcove, where several white sheets were swaying in the slight breeze.

Well, that was something at least. 

It was easy as anything to quietly sneak across the rooftops towards them and not long later he had one of said sheets tucked around him like a toga, using the clothesline it had been hanging from to tie it more securely around his middle.

He felt ridiculous but at least he wasn’t fully naked. If anyone looked at him strangely he could always pretend to be a hungover student who had no idea what he did last night. It was pretty close to the truth.

The distant murmuring of voices fell silent, overpowered by one in particular – a voice that caused an immediate visceral feeling of revulsion.

Desmond leaped across oddly familiar rooftops and when his eyes landed on the speaker he froze. A feeling of coldness erupted inside of him, sudden and harsh like a punch to the gut.

Uberto Alberti stood on a platform facing the crowds. Next to him, lined up as puppets in a terribly familiar play, were three figures. 

For a long second, Desmond could only focus on the most distant of these forms, his vision tunnelled and hands clenching into fists – little Petruccio was far too young, far too innocent to be caught up in this.

So yeah, this was obviously a hallucination of sorts – or perhaps the afterlife was really not all that different than the Animus. Which just figured.

Still, he’d be _damned_ if he was going to watch this happen all over again. 

So Desmond didn’t wait to listen to the cruel words that fell from Uberto’s lips, didn’t even think to look into the crowds to see if Ezio was there. He just moved with all of the skill he’d gained over what felt like decades under the unknowing guidance of Altaïr, Ezio and Connor.

The make-shift toga restricted his movement, but his body was flexible and strong. So when Desmond reached the edge of the roof nearest to the podium and leapt, he had enough forward momentum to knock down the guard that was standing on the stage behind Petruccio.

He stole the guard’s sword and cut through the rope above the young boy’s head - the unexpected action made the child fall down to the wooden floor but Desmond had no time to help him up. He had to move fast.

Across from the podium, Uberto yelled out, and the hooded executioner drew his sword and came towards him. Instead of attacking either of them, Desmond moved to cut the ropes. Giovanni was nearest to him, then Federico and only _then_ did he focus on Uberto. Desmond's movements were fluid when he dodged around the executioner and finally came close enough to drive a sword right into the traitor’s throat.

Uberto fell down, gurgling blood, and Desmond felt an odd, numb calm settle over him. This was it, he had done it. Perhaps now the memory wouldn’t haunt him anymore and he could move on to whatever was supposed to come after, in death.

But while he stilled, expecting this memory to end, the rest of the world continued. The executioner attacked him from behind and it was pure instinct that let Desmond escape the blade. He was still confused when one of the guards converging on his position managed to slice a deep cut into his arm. 

It hurt. Like actually _hurt_. Not the simulated almost-pain of the Animus, but like the cut he’d received to his lip at his father’s hands in training.

Shit. Was this real? How could this be real?

He glanced to his side, seeing Giovanni standing in front of the smallest Auditore, trying to fight off guards despite having his hands tied behind his back. Federico was right next to Desmond, in much the same predicament, and the sight was enough to draw him into the here and now. He could think about it later, for now he needed to act.

So he did. 

Desmond fought off the guards nearest to them and waited for a slight lull when the guards were pushed back to call out to Federico. “Give me your hands,” he said, the Italian falling easily from his lips after spending so much time as Ezio. 

Federico looked at him and gave a single sharp nod before turning around so that Desmond could cut through his bonds. With his hands freed, the young man immediately took a weapon from the nearest downed guard and moved to free his father. That was all Desmond could take note of before he was forced to turn away, getting out of the way of an arrow.

“We have to go,” he said without looking at the young man next to him. “Can you run?”

“ _Si_ ,” Federico answered. “Father!”

“Father!” a more familiar voice seconded and Ezio was right there in front of the stage wearing the white robes of an Assassin. 

“Ezio, take your younger brother and run,” Giovanni ordered, “We are right behind you.”

Ezio nodded obediently, pressing through the guards and leaping onto the platform. “Climb on, _fratellino_ ,” he told Petruccio from behind the cover of his father.

With the youngest boy clinging tightly on his back, Ezio ran and Federico followed barely a breath later. The brothers ran across the square and ducked into alley, most likely searching for an easy climb to the rooftops without archers at their back.

“Well?” Desmond grunted out to the only Auditore still there, while the two of them tried to hold back what was starting to feel like all of the damn guards in Florence. They wouldn’t last much longer. Fighting off the swordsmen was one thing, but sooner or later one of those arrows would hit and slow them down. “What are you waiting for?”

Giovanni didn’t even glance at him. “I will draw them off,” he stated before pushing through the guards and running in an entirely different direction than his sons.

Desmond stared after Giovanni for a mere second before he followed. He caught up with the older Assassin easily enough, his body young and limber. Giovanni glanced at him before asking “Can you climb? Run the rooftops?”

If there was anything Desmond could do nowadays it was that. “Yes,” he answered quietly, “Don’t worry about me. Just go and I will follow you.”

The guards were still on their asses, so thankfully the man didn’t argue. Giovanni leapt onto a nearby stack of boxes, grasped a protruding wooden beam and swung on top of the one next to it. He then used it as a springboard to grab hold of the edge of the roof and drag himself up. Despite the man’s age, all of it was done with the fluid elegance of a Master Assassin.

Desmond shared those skills, if not the flair. He had arguably even more decades of experience than Giovanni and this body of his was trained. So as promised he followed suit, running and leaping across the well-known rooftops with a bittersweet feeling. Florence felt to him like a home tinged with sadness, somewhat similar to how Desmond now remembered the Farm.

They managed to lose the guards eventually and slowed down, moving more subtly now that they neared La Rosa Colta. 

Desmond remembered that Claudia and Maria had taken refuge there in the… past? Other past? What even _was_ this?

Anyway, it should be a safe hideout for now. Although… It was not just Ezio who was a notorious wanted man now. It was Giovanni, Federico, perhaps Petruccio and… well... Desmond. This was not how it had gone before, how it was _supposed_ to have happened. Things had changed. 

_He_ had changed things.

And, well, the more time passed, the more ledges he grabbed hold of and rooftops he landed on, the more this all felt real. Not like the Animus at all. Was he alive? Was Desmond actually here in Florence five hundred years in the past?

Had he just changed history? 

Because as of roughly twenty minutes ago and before he _should_ have been... Uberto Alberti was dead.

“I killed him,” Desmond said softly, needing to say it out loud, to make it real.

Giovanni turned to look at him and Desmond couldn’t help but wonder what the other man saw. 

A strange guy in a damn toga, probably, the white of it now covered with blood and dirt.

“So you did,” the man agreed, as firm as William Miles had been and yet with an undertone of kindness that his father had lacked. “But his crimes were many. He would have executed us, all of us. If there had been any compassion in his heart, Petruccio at least would have been spared.”

Desmond just nodded, because that was true. And it wasn’t as if he regretted it. He didn’t. Couldn’t. And this was hardly the first time he’d killed a man - during his rescue of his father he’d killed Daniel Cross, Warren Vidic and plenty of nameless guards.

But the consequences of this _change_. There was no telling what they would be.

* * *

After they entered La Rosa Colta, a young woman who Giovanni addressed as Annette led them to the room all of the other Auditore were gathered in. 

The first thing he noticed was that the other male Auditore had all made it there in one piece, not that Desmond had doubted them. Ezio had been skilled already at this age, without even knowing about Assassins at all. And Federico... he'd been confident in his skills, in the few memories Desmond had of him. He'd certainly managed to hold his own against the guards on that platform.

Giovanni was engulfed in an embrace by his wife, Petruccio caught between them – his mother was clearly not letting go of the young boy any time soon.

Claudia was next, and then Ezio, hugging his father tightly. It was odd to see him like this, wearing his father’s whites and yet looking puppy-dog happy. 

Desmond stood to the side, quietly watching the emotional reunions with a warm smile. He still wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, but this… this was good.

It was the Auditore matriarch who turned to him first, drawing the attention to him “And who are you, _giovanotto_? Are you the one my Federico told me about?” Madonna Maria asked, turning to him. “Did you set my boys free? _Grazie, grazie mille_.”

“I-uh. Yes,” he answered, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room on him. All of the Auditore were there, plus Madame Paola. That was a lot of Assassin scrutiny. 

“Sorry about, uh,” Desmond gestured to his improvised toga. “I didn’t have time to get anything better.”

“That _is_ a rather curious attire,” Paola stated with quiet amusement resting on her lips, “May I ask what happened to your clothing?”

“I lost… uh-” he mustered a wry smile, “Everything.”

And wasn’t _that_ the damn truth. 

“What happened?” Federico was the first to ask, looking so much better now. The last memory he, or rather Ezio, had of him was that defeated look as he stood at the gallows. Now there was still a worried furrow in his brow that didn’t really suit him, but the young man’s eyes were sharp and expectant. He was so very, very alive.

“I don’t… It doesn’t matter. I made a choice, I knew that it would mean…” he gestured a little helplessly with his hands, not sure how to put it in words that made sense. He’d chosen death, to sacrifice his own life for the sake of the world. What he got was… “Well, things could have been worse.”

Because it seemed that he was still alive. Still sane, hopefully. Yes, he’d lost his father, Rebecca, Shaun, everything. But not really, because at least they’d been ok back there. If anything, Desmond was the one who was lost - torn away from his entire world and future and life. And yet, he hadn’t lost everything after all, because he was _here_. 

This was Ezio’s world, Ezio’s time and… that wasn’t something he could regret. Whatever the Eye had done or whatever Desmond had unconsciously done with the Eye. It wasn’t necessarily bad.

Just very, very confusing.

“We are grateful for your help,” Giovanni said, reaching out to put a hand on shoulder. It wasn’t sudden, the older man’s movements had been slow and calm, but the warmth and the solidity of it still made Desmond startle and he had to fight not to move away from the touch.

“ _Si_ , thank you, _messere_ ,” Claudia added tearfully. “We were so very, very worried.”

God, she was so young. They were both so young, Ezio and Claudia. Not the great Mentor of the Brotherhood and a woman who confidently ran Rome’s brothel and never backed down from anything.

Only Federico and Petruccio didn’t provide that odd dichotomy in Desmond’s mind of seeing them as they were now and how they would be (could be?), because they had never had a chance to grow up. Perhaps, Desmond slowly realised, now they _would_. 

He didn’t say anything, just shifted awkwardly under their thankful eyes.

“I did not expect anyone to come to our aid,” Giovanni said slowly, and the way his eyes darted to his youngest children for a moment was enough indication to show that what he really meant was any Assassins. Especially not an unknown one like Desmond, who showed up out of nowhere in the middle of Florence.

Wearing a sheet.

Yeah, the Master Assassin was probably suspicious as hell of Desmond.

“I – uh… I didn’t really expect… any of that either. But when I saw… well, I mean, your youngest is… very young.” It wasn’t the best explanation, but it was at least true. Desmond figured that for now that would have to be enough. 

Probably best to just quietly leave them to it, actually. He hadn’t exactly set out to save Ezio’s brothers and father but now that he had… mission complete, wasn’t it? Time to move on to do... whatever he was going to do in Italy centuries before he was even born. Shit.

“I should go,” he managed to say. “I'm sorry about…” he glanced at Claudia and then waved his hands a little, not sure how to say ‘being an Assassin running around in your city’ without, well, actually _saying_ it.

Giovanni stared at him, calm and assessing and Desmond swallowed and looked down, escaping that probing gaze because he had no other answers to give the man.

“Do you have a place to stay?” Giovanni finally asked him and there was an expectation there, that the answer would be no. Which would lead to what? Desmond hiding out here in the brothel with the Auditore? Screwing with history even further and pretending to be a part of something that had never truly belonged to him - that was nothing more than a stolen memory caught in his scrambled mind?

He stood up straighter, projecting every inch of confidence he could muster. “Yes,” he lied, “Thank you for your hospitality or, um, something. But I should probably go. There."

Then something else occurred to him. Desmond cleared his throat and continued in a quieter tone, “Could I… maybe borrow some actual clothes first? The guards won’t recognize me as easily when I’m not wearing a damn sheet.”

“Of course,” Madonna Maria said, before elegantly ushering him towards a chair. “Please sit, my dear. We will find you something. It has been a long day already, hasn’t it?”

Well, he was hardly going to argue with her of all people. Desmond knew from his memories as Ezio how useless going up against his mother would be, when she was still... yeah. So he nodded and sat down, only feeling the weariness hit him when he was no longer on his feet. God he was tired. He didn’t even know if it was a physical or mental thing, just that he felt tired down to his very bones.

“Introductions first, I think,” Maria stated when he was seated. “I am Maria Auditore, and once again, you have my thanks for your actions today. This is my husband Giovanni and my children Federico, Ezio, Claudia and Petruccio.”

“Uh, nice to meet you,” he said, inclining his head a little. “My name is Desmond Miles.”

“Young Desmond, I am Paola, I run La Rosa Colta. You are welcome here,” the Madame said, offering him her hand. Was he supposed to shake it? Kiss it? You’d think that after all of these years as Ezio he’d known, but he didn’t. How much of what he’d lived was etiquette and how much was Ezio being, well, Ezio? 

He carefully took hold of the offered hand and just… let it lay lightly in his own. “Thank you?”

She smiled serenely, her dark eyes filled with keen appraisal. He let go and looked away, feeling strange and twitchy in his own skin. _Was_ it even his own skin?

“I’m sorry, can I just… have a moment? I need a bath, a change of clothes. Just,” he gave the only reason he could think of. “I-uh. There’s blood and… yeah.”

Paola exchanged a look with someone behind him, Giovanni if he had to guess, and nodded. “ _Si_. Follow me. We will get you cleaned up and comfortable.”

As he followed the Madame out of the room, he heard Giovanni quietly talking to his wife and sons. He couldn’t hear all of it, but he did pick out the name Uberto.

Right then. He quickened his pace, not sure if he wanted to hear the man inform his wife of Desmond’s most recent kills.

* * *

Once the bathroom door closed behind him, he felt a heavy sense of relief. He’d desperately needed a moment to breathe, away from prying eyes. A moment to think, to come to grips with everything.

When Desmond thought he’d just about gathered himself, he stepped further into the room, towards the already prepared bath. He glanced to the right and found a small mirror. The face looking back at him was his own, only not. 

“Shit,” he said out loud. His face was too young. He’d felt it, of course, that his body was different than he’d remembered but he hadn’t wanted to stop and consider why or how. Didn’t want to know what else the Eye had done to him but bring him here. Now it was kind of obvious, because that was his sixteen year old self. The well-trained teenager who’d ran away from the farm, the scar on his face still somewhat red.

“Shit,” Desmond said again and then just… turned away and undressed. What else was he going to do? He would take a bath, put on some actual clothes and whatever came after was a problem for later.

Compared to all of the fucked up things in his life, it could have been a lot worse. The reminder helped, somehow, to put it into perspective. 

Yes he was in the past, yes he had fucked over history - which would have a shit ton of implications. Desmond was also sort of homeless and currently entangled with a group of Assassins and didn’t have much of an explanation to give them that wasn’t the actual truth - which he couldn’t tell them for obvious reasons.

But none of that could be helped right now, so he tried to shove all of his problems to the back of his head and just enjoy his bath. The warm water was a relief to his aching muscles and the clothing he put on afterwards fitted his not yet fully grown frame well enough.

When he finally got out of the bathroom Desmond did feel better, more ready to face the world. And the Auditore. A prospect that was nerve-racking but also wonderful, because they were alive and together.

* * *

Desmond slowly re-entered the room. It was just Maria, Giovanni and their two eldest sons, he noted. He assumed that Paola had left to deal with business and Annette had likely taken Petruccio to rest. The poor boy’s health had never been good and he could only imagine what kind of effect the day’s traumatic events would have had on him. Perhaps Claudia had gone with him?

“Ah, you look much better,” Maria stood up to greet him, Giovanni following suit.

“Thanks,” he answered for politeness’ sake and glanced around, wondering if this would be a good time to leave. No doubt Giovanni Auditore had questions – the man was a Master Assassin and would have recognized the training in Desmond’s fighting and rooftop skills. But it wasn’t like he could tell the man about being from the future – he’d sound completely insane. Running around wearing a sheet was bad enough.

Yeah, no, he’d like a free pass on _that_ particular conversation.

“So, uh. You’ll be fine now, right?” his hand was gesturing rather aimlessly and he forced the straying appendage back to his side. These people shouldn’t be making him feel this nervous and yet he was.

Giovanni Auditore was a true Assassin, not like Desmond with his smattering of training and assimilated memories. And Ezio… Ezio was actually here, in front of him. The very man who would go on to become the greatest Mentor the Brotherhood had ever had.

That was... something. Probably best not to think about it too deeply.

Once more it was Maria who spoke for the family. “It’s a dire situation, but we are all together now. I do not doubt that we can overcome this and that all will be well in the end,” she said, walking over to take Desmond’s arm in lightly in her own. 

He just sort of let her drag him back to the chair he had vacated earlier and sat down again without really meaning to. Desmond was tired, drained, and arguing with a woman who he was both unreasonably fond of and cowed by was far too much effort.

“Federico, some wine for our guest,” she effortlessly commanded her eldest.

“ _Si, madre_ ,” the young man answered, pouring a glass from a bottle already on the table and bringing it to Desmond with unwarranted flair. “For you, my friend,” Federico said, coming in far too close as he offered up the glass, a smile on his lips and his eyes glittering with something that made Desmond feel even _more_ nervous. “And well you have earned it!” 

He accepted it more out of stupefaction than anything else. 

At that, Federico thankfully backed away giving Desmond back enough space so that he felt he could breathe again. He blinked after the young man.

“Thank you?” he belatedly said.

“No, no,” the man returned with that same inviting smile, “Thank _you_ , Desmond. We are very grateful.”

Desmond shifted uncomfortably and looked away from Federico to glance at the others in the room. When his eyes met Giovanni’s he immediately looked down and shifted his body back in the direction of the man’s eldest son. 

“You’re welcome,” he spoke so softly it was almost a whisper. “I- uh.” He shook his head and finally settled on “I have to go.”

He should, he really should before things turned even more complicated. He just needed a moment to regain his strength.

“Desmond,” Giovanni drew his attention, though he remained standing where he was. “While what you did today was a brave and just, you must know that the guards will be searching for you as much as they are seeking us.”

“I know how to hide in plain sight,” he replied with a shrug. “It’ll be fine.”

The man’s piercing gaze only sharpened, if anything. Next to him, Federico’s smile had melted away into a studied placidness.

“And where will you go?” Giovanni pressed, taking a step towards him. “You came here with naught but a sheet. Which means that aside from the clothes you now wear, you have nothing. No possessions, no money... no shelter?”

“I have a place…” he answered.

“Do you?” Giovanni asked, more gently now, as if he was speaking to one of his sons. “Do you truly? For I cannot help but feel that you are stretching the truth at best.”

He squared his shoulders and looked straight back at the man, letting any emotion drain out of his face. It was no use lying to a Master Assassin, but Desmond was hardly helpless. “No,” he informed the man plainly, “but it doesn’t matter. I’ll find my way. Money is easy enough to earn. And there are plenty of places to hide in this city.”

Desmond may not be a Master Assassin like Giovanni, was perhaps nothing more than a novice with some training from years ago and skills picked up from his ancestors. But he _was_ an Assassin. He may have run away from that title before, but he had found his way again and wouldn’t lose it again.

“But why would you not hide here with us?” Ezio asked, sounding confused. Had his father or brother told Ezio anything during Desmond’s earlier absence? Or was the younger Auditore still in the dark about the life of an Assassin? The young man had to know that something was up, but perhaps not exactly what. Either way, Ezio was bold and confident enough to speak for all of them. “Are you not in trouble for helping my family? Then it is clearly up to us to offer you what aid we may.”

Desmond softened at the other's words. Ezio was still young and much more impulsive than he had been in his later years, but at the very core of him still very much the same person. 

He smiled at Ezio, a boy still, and his voice was warm when he spoke again. “That's an honourable offer and I don’t doubt your word. But I’m in trouble for my own sake, Ezio. If not for your family, I have no doubt that I would have gotten myself involved in some other sentimental, foolhardy mess. My father always _did_ say that my soft heart would get me killed.”

William had tried to toughen Desmond up and succeeded in part. Because even at the age of twelve Desmond never cried anymore, no matter what wounds he sustained during training. But unless it was something that went against the very core of his beliefs, Desmond still had a tendency to bend instead of stand firm.

His father had shown him just what a hard man could inflict upon his surroundings and Desmond had no desire to become the same - to add to the suffering of those he cared about instead of easing it. So he gave way, more often than not.

If that made him a doormat, like Shaun used to call him, then so be it.

And, ironically, it was Desmond’s soft heart that had ended up saving his father.

It was Ezio again, who shook him out of his thoughts. “But then isn’t it better to stay with those who can help if you got into trouble?” the teenager said, so damned earnest. God he was young, only seventeen years old. Though, he supposed that in his current body Desmond was even younger. Huh.

And what could he even say to that? That concept is exactly what made the Brotherhood under Ezio so strong after all. They had been a Brotherhood in truth, had fiercely looked after their own in ways that the version under William Miles never truly had. 

Desmond turned away, his rather helpless look falling on Federico.

If he’d hoped for a helping hand there, he did not find it. Federico laughed lightly. “He’s not wrong. My brother _can_ be smart. On the rare occasion.”

“Eh!” Ezio exclaimed, offended. “Federico!”

“Well, there is no use going out right now, is there?” Maria elegantly interposed, before the two of them could truly get the brotherly ribbing going. “The guards are still searching everywhere within the city. For now you must stay and rest, it is safe here, Paola has assured as much. And you have not eaten yet, have you?”

She didn’t wait for his answer before continuing on, overriding any protest he may have had. “Ezio, go ask the girls for a light meal to tide our guest over until dinner.”

“It’s really not necessary,” he tried, but Ezio’s mother expertly ignored him. When said plate of food was presented to him, Desmond submitted more or less gracefully to eating it. He was hungry enough and it would have been rude to refuse it now that it was already there in front of him.

When he was done, the plate was almost immediately taken from his hands by a widely smiling Federico and replaced by the glass of wine he’d put down earlier. “So, Desmond, in my wanderings of Florence I have not seen you before,” the young man said far too cheerfully, “are you perhaps newly arrived? Did you get robbed along the way?”

“I’m… yes. I just arrived this morning,” he answered truthfully. “I wasn’t really robbed, just…” Desmond fell silent, fidgeting uncomfortably when he couldn’t think of any reasonable reply.

Federico stared at him for a moment before nodding agreeably. “Well then, as one new to this city, it falls to us to inform you of all that is relevant, does it not, _mio fratello_?” he addressed those last words to his brother.

“ _Si_!” Ezio agreed, sliding closer to Desmond as well. He glanced between the brothers, a little alarmed at the focus of these two intense personalities. But all the Auditore brothers did was to tell him of the main sights within the city. After that, they slid seamlessly into little anecdotes that Desmond could do nothing but listen silently to, a small smile on his face. 

He hadn’t planned on staying, but with his own tiredness and the familiarity of this family he (no, _Ezio_ ) had loved… it was easy to just fall into it like he would fall into a memory in the Animus. Before he knew it he was pressed into staying for dinner.

The Auditore family was almost overwhelming, especially when Claudia and Paola joined them for dinner and pressed him even further with the politest of queries and with the kind of etiquette that should have had no place within a brothel and that Desmond was far too tired to truly grasp.

He did his best anyway to follow suit with the rest of the Auditore, glancing at Ezio more than once to check whether he was doing ok. He was too tired to remember that Ezio didn’t know him and wouldn’t know why he needed to correct Desmond if he messed up.

But Ezio was courteous; answering Desmond’s lost looks with a reassuring smile or a nod and jumping in whenever Desmond seemed incapable of coming up with a correct response. So he relaxed a little, letting his worries of offending Maria and the rest of them fall away and just ate and settled.

After dinner Paola provided them with rooms, additional to the one Claudia and Maria had stayed in the night before. She apologized for not having the rooms for all of them, but it was important that they stayed in the back, away from the clients. 

And so Desmond would be sharing quarters with both of the elder Auditore brothers.

He barely blinked when he was informed of this, despite not remembering agreeing to stay here for the night. Desmond simply nodded in acceptance, and thanked her on auto pilot before entering the room, brothers at his heels.

As he looked out the window, for a moment he entertained the idea of just sneaking out. Federico coming to stand next to him was enough to dissuade him of that faint hope. 

“A beautiful night,” the young man said lightly, before continuing more seriously. “Strange, how the night seems almost unchanged, even after so much has happened.”

Desmond let out a soft breath. “Strange,” he repeated and resigned himself to staying here at least for the night. If he didn’t he was certain that one, if not both, of the Auditore boys would be following right after him.

Besides, he was tired and it was hardly a trial to sleep in a decent bed, brothel or not. 

He’d slept in far worse places.

“ _Buona Notte_ , Federico. Ezio,” Desmond said softly, sitting down on his bed.

“ _Buona Notte_ ,” he received in reply from both brothers. 

His body was heavy when he lay down, and Desmond dozed off almost instantly. Vaguely he heard the voices of two brothers speaking quietly in the night, until he heard no more.

* * *

“Yesterday, you mentioned that you know how to hide in plain sight,” Federico said in the quiet of the room the next morning, after the whirlwind that was a younger Ezio had already left to find the rest of his family.

“Yes?” Desmond answered without thinking before adding slowly, “Can’t you?”

Federico didn’t answer, but tilted his head, assessing him, “Nothing is true…”

Ah. Hide in plain sight. Yeah, he had been rather obvious, hadn't he? Granted, it's not like Desmond had been trying to hide what he was. He smiled wryly. “Everything is permitted,” he replied and shook his head. “I’m… I’m not. Well, I am, but…”

Now the other young man smiled at him with an odd, patient indulgence, “Not an Assassin? Or are you?”

“My father was an Assassin,” he reluctantly admitted. William Miles had been a great many things, not all of them good. But he _was_ a skilled Assassin, wouldn’t have made it to his age if he hadn’t been. 

“Did he die?” Federico asked softly.

Desmond felt caught by the sympathy in those dark eyes, but the other Assassin had it all wrong. The only tragedy in Desmond’s life had been the ones he’d brought upon himself. He had been the one to run away, to try to live a civilian life only to end up getting himself captured by Templars. Sure, life at the farm had been hard and his father hadn’t been a kind man, but… 

All those years later and Desmond still couldn’t be sure what he would have done instead. He regretted leaving, but he would _also_ have regretted staying. His life as a civilian had been tough as well, with a fake name and a multitude of odd jobs before he finally ended up a bartender, but it had been a good life – less cold than the one he had left behind.

It had just been a selfish choice.

“No,” he whispered, finally answering the question. “He’s very skilled at being an Assassin. He was just not any good at being a father.”

For a moment the other man was silent and Desmond couldn’t help but look away from that probing gaze. Federico had been raised in an Assassin family as well, and yet it wasn’t the same.

“Did you leave?” the other boy asked before shaking his head as if discounting the question and asking with a thoughtful frown, “When?”

“Hmm,” unconsciously his hand came up to touch his lip. He wasn’t sure how to answer. He’d left a long time ago, spent years as a civilian, but in this body… in this body it was still a fresh wound, wasn’t it? His time at the farm and running away from it all, leaving behind the war he’d never wanted any part in - when he was the age his body was, that had only just happened.

“Does it matter?” Desmond finally said, after a silence that went on far too long to be natural in the conversation, “I won’t be going back. I can’t, in any case. So…”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t, _fratello_ ,” Federico agreed before his whole countenance lightened. The man stood, slinging a hand around Desmond’s shoulder and pulling him along towards the door. “Come! Breakfast awaits us, provided by Paola’s _lovely_ girls. It would be a crime of the direst sort to let it grow cold.”

Desmond shot one last glance at the window, but his muscles relaxed and he let himself be dragged along into the warm Auditore chaos that would no doubt be awaiting him.

He exchanged polite nods and greetings and when he joined them at the table, Desmond did his best to fade into the background. He ate quietly and just watched the family.

There was a soft reprimand to Federico about untidy clothing by Maria, a stern look by Giovanni at the sibling teasing taking place that melted away into a fond smile. There was Ezio, lively and joyful, Federico, perceptive but warm, Claudia, still sweet and innocent but hiding a core of steel and young Petruccio, sitting among them and letting his family’s presence soothe what must have been a terrifying ordeal.

Unknowingly the softest of smiles settled onto his face as he drank it all in, letting the present wash over him like a man who had been on the verge of freezing would linger in the sudden warmth of the sun.

They would fine now, Desmond decided. And even if history was changed – even if Ezio didn’t have the same experiences that had driven him onwards the last time, even if his life would drastically change... Desmond didn’t regret it. He wasn’t Minerva, who could calculate an optimal outcome and he wasn’t his father, willing to sacrifice people’s happiness, sanity or lives for a greater purpose.

Would Ezio ever become the great Mentore he had been? 

Maybe. Maybe not.

But he _would_ have his father, his brothers, his family. And he would be happier for it.

This time around, the Italian Assassin would have more than vengeance, more than the strings of fate pulling him this way and that. Ezio would have a _choice_ in who or what he wanted to become.

Desmond would make sure of it.

* * *

Caught in his own thoughts, Desmond didn’t notice the calm eyes watching him in turn. 

Thus far, Giovanni had read many things in the young man’s actions, in his words and lack thereof. 

At first, during their rescue, he’d assumed that a fellow Assassin had heard of their predicament and come to their aid. He’d disregarded the boy’s age in favour of his skill, because said skill had been clear from the start. The Assassin had been fast and focussed, cutting all three of the captured Auditore down from the gallows with speed and assassinating Uberto with all the accuracy and efficiency of a Master Assassin.

But then, for a moment, the boy had frozen. One of the attacking guards had drawn him back to reality, thankfully in time to prevent a severe injury. Giovanni hadn’t witnessed every moment of the young man’s fight, focussed on protecting his sons as best he could, but he’d seen enough.

Desmond fought like an Assassin, he ran the rooftops with an ease that made even Giovanni envious. But what the boy had admitted to Ezio was true – this young man had a soft heart, it was clear in everything he’d said. Though Desmond had insisted on leaving more than once, he seemed helpless against the formidable force of nature that was his lovely wife, Maria. Federico, likewise, easily steered the younger boy along. For all his skills in the field, the boy seemed lost to him, and entirely too young for the shadows on his face and the silent longing hidden poorly in his eyes. 

Not a Master Assassin at all, nor a boy in a makeshift toga pretending to be more than he was. A Novice, Giovanni determined, and that felt right to him. The boy was trained in fighting and fleeing, but inexperienced in the intricacies of life outside of the field.

He wondered what sort of life could have shaped the young man thus, to be able to face down innumerable guards without the slightest hint of fear, yet to look so very lost at what to do when they had made it to safety. Giovanni’s lips thinned as he decided it was likely one he would disapprove of.

No matter. He would find the truth of it later. Desmond was somewhat reticent, but not particularly skilled at lying. Giovanni could be patient and would let his questions rest for now in favour of making the young Assassin more comfortable in staying with them.

The boy had saved them, had prevented Federico and Petruccio from dying for Giovanni’s mistakes – that was something he would always be deeply grateful for.

It was partly because of that, that they couldn’t just let the young Assassin run off. It would be dangerous, both for Desmond with all of the Florentine guards looking out for him, but also for the Auditore in hiding. It would take but a misspoken word to bring danger to their door. 

He had mentioned as much to his family while Desmond had taken a moment alone, still shaken by what Giovanni assumed was his first kill. It was said subtly due to Ezio’s presence as he still hadn’t found a moment to inform his younger son more thoroughly of the truth. 

Federico and Maria had both understood the underlying message. It would be best to convince Desmond to stay and if they could not, they would have to plan for both a rescue and relocation should the boy fall in the hands of the guards.

Thankfully it hadn’t gotten to that, for now they were all of them safe. And Uberto was dead, but even so there was still much to be done.

At least Giovanni would not have to do it alone. Paola would help keep his family safe and his brother had already been sent a message to inform him of all that had occurred. He hadn’t requested Mario to join them, but he had informed the man to be ready to either act or receive Giovanni’s family.

Here in Florence he had his sons, Federico was already a skilled Novice and while Ezio still needed to be fully informed of the Brotherhood, his younger son was quick on the rooftops and had his talent to aid him.

And Desmond… Giovanni looked at the boy in question. He was currently being subjected to Claudia’s questioning and providing short, stammering answers. At one of the questions the young man blinked and shot Ezio a pleading look, clearly asking for help.

His boy laughed but derailed his sister, teasing her to let their guest have a moment of peace so that he could actually eat something.

Giovanni’s lip twitched up in amusement. Well, Desmond was here. Whoever had trained him thus far and whatever had happened to him afterwards that had caused the scars on his body and mind, the young Assassin was here now. And even if the boy would not admit it, he needed help. Perhaps not as desperately as Giovanni had needed it at the gallows, to save his sons if not himself, but none could live the kind of life they lived alone and come out of it intact.

The Auditore were an Assassin family. They would welcome one more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read just about all of esama’s Assassin’s Creed stories (most of them twice, or erm... more) and only _then_ started playing ACII (What, it was really cheap on steam, I wanted to give it a try, for the story if nothing else. Not sure if I can recommend the PC controls because that takes some getting used to, but all of the rooftop running is fun once you figure them out).
> 
> But anyway, having read that many fanfics made the Auditore hanging a hundred times as awful because I was already attached to those characters and knew what was going to happen and _couldn’t stop it_.
> 
> This story is basically the fact that I needed to save the Auditore at least once. 
> 
> Also, Desmond just got adopted. So yeah.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was a one-shot, but I wrote some additional scenes as continuation just for myself, mostly because there are not nearly enough Auditore Assassin’s Creed fanfiction out there and I just… needed more. Quite desperately. I never planned on posting them, but... yep. 
> 
> So here are those scenes, only a bit expanded on. I figure that the lack of stories in this fandom means that other people might be as desperate as I am and would also appreciate a bit of an add-on, even if it's not a fully-fledged story. Every little bit helps? Though in the end after several additions and revisions, everything put together turned out not to be that little anymore and just as long as my first chapter. Huh.
> 
> Anyway, a huge thank you to **Ebenbild** for giving me the nudge and the feedback I needed to turn my random drabbles into something I could actually post. I appreciate you taking the time to read through what I had and helping me figure out what to do with it. 🥰
> 
> And thanks to all of my other reviewers as well for the kind comments! I appreciate it a lot.

Desmond was a little embarrassed that it took him this long to notice.

In his defence, he’d pretty much died to save the world only to wake up unexpectedly in his younger body roughly five hundred years before he'd even be born. 

So yeah, he kind of needed some time to work through all of that and hadn’t really had the chance to do so, because the bath he’d taken after arriving at La Rosa Colta was just about the only moment alone that he’d had.

The rest of the time, there was an Auditore pretty much everywhere he turned. 

Desmond was starting to suspect it was deliberate.

Because the very moment he once again made up his mind that it would be best to just take off, Madonna Maria would be there offering him food or asking for help with a small task, with that expectant look on her face that he dared anyone to be able to refuse.

Or Federico would suddenly be right there talking about Florence, or his siblings, or anything at all as he cheerfully steered Desmond back towards the others.

Even Ezio seems to have caught on - evidently much sooner than Desmond had - and joined in on the Auditore conspiracy of making the unknown Assassin stay put. 

And yeah, Desmond kind of got it. He was a stranger and they were in hiding, so having an unknown person aware of where they were and then go gallivanting off was probably not what they wanted right now. But it was still kind of. Well. Something.

Anyway, being aware of their little conspiracy was one thing, but that didn’t make it any easier to take off, because they were being so damn _nice_ about it.

“Are you certain you wouldn’t like a bit more wine?” one of said conspirators asked him, holding up the bottle in front of him. Federico was leaning in so close that Desmond was forced to sit back down in the chair he’d just stood up from – if only to keep himself from literally butting heads with the other man.

“No. I’m fine Federico, thank you,” he answered a bit ruefully.

The young man nodded and put the bottle down on the nearest surface with far too much flair. “Well, you are right of course. It wouldn’t do to over indulge when it’s almost time for dinner.”

“Dinner?” he repeated a bit numbly. “It’s just past the midday meal, and anyway I…”

Federico interrupted him before he could even finish his protest. “Ah, but we don’t want to be a burden on the beautiful Paola and her girls while we are imposing on them, which is why we must help where we can! And, predictably, Ezio is nowhere to be found when there are chores to be done. Surely you wouldn’t make me do them all alone, would you?”

Desmond stared at Federico. The man was so confident when he spoke and also lively in a way that Desmond hadn’t expected, _couldn’t_ have known to expect from the brief interactions he’d witnessed through the Animus. Federico was even more overwhelming than Ezio was, because Ezio was at least known. “Well, I…” he managed.

“Wonderful,” Federico said with a grin that seemed to hold not only genuine cheer but a fair amount of devilish charm. The man finally allowed him enough space to stand up, but immediately slung an arm around his shoulders and guided him towards the kitchen.

Desmond sighed and gave in to the inevitable once more.

* * *

It was after dinner that Desmond finally managed to gather up the willpower to leave. He didn’t actually announce his intention of leaving this time, by now aware of the fact that it would most likely just result in him failing miserably. Again. 

Instead he had excused himself for the bathroom and then just kept on going - because if he gave them a chance they’d come up with some other reason he should stay. 

It wasn’t that Desmond didn’t have a will of his own. Yes, he tended to give in easily, but when it came down to it he was prepared to make the hard choices. He’d done it before, had been forced to do so – standing between Minerva and Juno, _knowing_ that it wasn’t going to end well for him but fully aware of what he needed to do all the same…

The point was that standing his ground and insisting on leaving the Auditore wasn’t hard because Desmond couldn’t stand up for himself, it was hard because a large part of him didn’t _want_ to: this was Ezio and his family. 

Who despite all of their gentle prodding were really kind of great. 

Giovanni was patient and he so clearly loved his wife and children that it was almost painful to watch. Maria was graceful and warm and unbroken. Petruccio was sweet and quietly curious – always observing everything around him and Claudia was already opinionated at this age, already strong but still enjoying the love and support from her family. Federico was pushy but too cheerful and charming about it for anyone to actually mind. It was kind of like Ezio, the older version. For anyone else the way he’d hit on every pretty lady would have been sleazy, but with Ezio it was just something to fondly shake your head at because he was just so genuine about it somehow.

God it was weird seeing Ezio like this, young and surrounded by his family first of all, but also from the outside. Not that he’d been _inside_ or anything with the Animus because while Desmond had lived through Ezio’s eyes and body it wasn’t like he could read the man’s mind and just thinking about it in these terms made it seem all the more wrong but… 

Yeah, it was just weird. 

Desmond sighed and purposely shut down that train of thought. Sure he didn’t want to leave, but he had to do it eventually so it might as well be now. He couldn’t exactly hang around Ezio for the rest of his life, because this was real life and that wasn’t how life worked. Besides, stalking was kind of frowned upon. Even in the Florence of 1476.

So the misplaced sort-of-Assassin sneaked out and away from La Rosa Colta. He ran across the hauntingly familiar rooftops of Florence with no real destination in mind. Every now and then Desmond stopped to rip down wanted posters, waiting patiently for the guards to move out of sight first. It seemed like the thing to do – though it was strange to see these posters with Giovanni’s face on them instead of Ezio’s. Clearly the Auditore patriarch was considered more dangerous in the here and now.

Eventually Desmond figured that he should probably get some money so that he could get a room for the night. 

He stopped on a rooftop that was out of the line-of-sight from any guards and activated his Eagle Vision in the hopes of locating a bit of treasure or some rich guy to pickpocket. He didn’t get that far, though, because his attention was immediately drawn to the unexpected bright blue in his peripheral vision.

Desmond turned around and looked straight at Federico - who instead of stepping back into the evening shadows stepped forwards without hesitation. 

Alright, so maybe stalking wasn’t that frowned upon, at least not in Assassin circles. Judging by his mannerisms, Federico clearly wasn’t seeing anything wrong with it. 

The young man walked lightly across the rooftop towards him, as casual as if they had planned to meet there all along. 

“You left,” the Auditore Assassin stated when he was close enough to speak comfortably.

Desmond turned away from Federico to stare out over Florence instead of into dark eyes that looked at him too deeply. “Well, you’re all fine now, aren’t you? You don’t need me. I should move on, do something useful.”

“Useful?” Federico repeated, his tone just a little too intense.

He shrugged and was careful not to look at Federico, even when the other man fully closed the distance between them. He was standing close enough that Desmond could practically feel the warmth emanating from him. He did his best to ignore it.

“There was a larger group of Templars involved in the conspiracy to kill my family,” the eldest Auditore brother said - far too lightly considering what had happened, “Uberto may be dead but there is still much to be done.”

Desmond knew that, of course, had seen it all play out in a different way. The Templars had been killed by Ezio, eventually. Surely now that all of the Auditore had survived, they could handle it together? Although… well, Desmond didn’t need to be an Isu to know that a drastic change in the timeline was unpredictable. There was really no telling what would happen now.

Despite the silence stretching and the other man clearly expecting some sort of response, Desmond stayed silent.

Eventually Federico spoke up again, in a more serious tone. “My family is still in danger. We could use another Assassin, Desmond.”

This made him finally turn his head to meet the young man’s eyes. They were just as piercing as he had feared but Desmond didn’t look away, not when Federico was more or less asking for help. “I’m barely an Assassin at all, Federico,” he admitted softly. Even with his knowledge of the future he couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t be more of a hinder than a help, as out of place as he was in this time.

“Do you truly believe that? I have seen you fight, and the way you ran the rooftops tonight… You are skilled,” the young man informed him and leaned in closer, still staring at him thoughtfully, “You actually remind me of that statue of Altaïr. You have a noble bearing,” Federico finished with a smile.

There wasn’t much noble about Desmond, that much he knew. _He_ had been the one to run away after all, from the farm, from the Assassins. Sure, he’d made it back to them in the end but that hadn’t been a choice, not really. Not until the very end when it was practically the only choice he could make. 

Then again, Altaïr hadn’t exactly been noble either. His ancestor had done a great many things he’d later regretted, though the man had learned from his mistakes and had grown wise over the years. But he’d also had Malik to help him in that. For all that Desmond had learned from Altaïr’s life about the Brotherhood, about Assassins, it was _Ezio_ who he considered to be the true Mentor of the Brotherhood. 

But he couldn’t exactly say any of that. “I know I look like him. He’s a distant ancestor,” Desmond said instead, frowning a little because he didn’t much like the physical comparison. It had come up before, Desmond had looked similar to the ancient Mentor even in his youth and that resemblance had only increased with time. 

It was something his father had always been proud of, as if having visible proof of their supposed noble bloodline was somehow worth anything. “I think my father was subconsciously thinking about that, when he gave me this scar,” he mumbled something that he’d always suspected, even as young as he had been.

Federico’s smile dropped away as if it had never been there, but the hand he put on Desmond’s back was warm. Slowly the young man drew him closer, into the semblance of a hug. “You’re safe here, with us.”

Desmond snorted at that, but didn’t move away from the hold even if it felt odd. How long had it been since anyone had hugged him, really? 

At the very end, in that temple with Minerva and Juno… His father had seemingly changed his mind, urging him not to do it, to find another way. He’d put a hand on Desmond’s shoulder, as close to a hug as anything he could have expected from the man, but Desmond had waved the man off because he had needed to stay strong, to stand firm. He couldn’t lean on anyway, couldn’t afford to waver.

“I’m hardly afraid of him anymore,” he quietly said. It was the truth. Too much had happened and while he and his father would never see eye to eye on a great many things, they’d managed to set that aside while working together to save the world. He didn’t fear Bill.

“‘Anymore’ implies that you _were_ , at some point,” the young man returned, kind but irrefutable.

Desmond just sighed and didn’t confirm what was, in many ways, the truth. But he didn’t push Federico away either, and when the other man quietly urged him to come back with him to La Rosa Colta, Desmond went.

It’s not like he had any other place to go.

* * *

“So you found him. Did he put up any protest, coming back here?” Giovanni asked his eldest son once they were alone. It had been a great relief to see Federico return safely and to see that he had succeeded in finding Desmond and convincing the teenager to come back with him.

He didn’t like the thought of any of his sons out on the streets of Florence. Not right now, when the city had been turned against them. When Lorenzo returned, things would calm down and the Templar conspirators could be dealt with – either politically or by Giovanni’s blade. But that would take time and for now he’d prefer his children close.

And at the moment, those children included a new charge.

The fact that Desmond had left them in the first place was somewhat worrisome. Not that it was unexpected - the young man who had saved them had, of course, been clear about his intention to leave since the very beginning, and yet he’d never persisted in that. 

To Giovanni the boy seemed lost more than anything. Desmond had folded to the gentle prodding of his wife and children in their bid to make the young man safe and comfortable amongst them, but it clearly hadn’t been enough to keep him at La Rosa Colta.

Perhaps Desmond had reason to leave – something he needed to do or somewhere he needed to go.

It was possible, but Giovanni doubted it. If he had somewhere to go, he would have insisted on leaving far sooner.

“Not as such,” Federico answered him, pulling the Master Assassin from his thoughts. “But he will undoubtedly try to leave again. You know that he’s been insisting that he ‘should go’ practically since he arrived.”

Giovanni tilted his head and wondered how his son saw the young man they were trying to protect from himself. “Do you think he wants to leave?”

“No. Not truly. If he did, he wouldn’t have let me convince him to come back here. But he thinks he _should_.” 

Ah, so his son had caught that distinction too.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Federico quietly added: “His father gave him that scar, the one that mirrors Ezio’s. I suspected before, but knowing that…”

Giovanni frowned, mentally going through what Federico had told him of an earlier conversation he’d had with their young charge. “You said his father was an Assassin, a seemingly unkind one. That you believe Desmond ran away from home.”

“Yes,” Federico confirmed, his own face had fallen into a deep frown as well, one that didn’t suit his son’s face at all. “That man must have trained him very young, for Desmond to be this skilled. And yet… I do not think it right father.”

“No,” Giovanni agreed, coming closer to put an arm around his son’s shoulders. As a father, he couldn’t imagine training his own sons to the extent that it would deeply hurt them, in body and soul. Yes, training could be hard at times, but it should never cause that subdued air, that lostness that clung around Desmond like a cloak. “We must simply show him that we are different, my son,” Giovanni said, though he knew such a thing would not be easy, “That he has nothing to fear here.”

His eldest shook his head. “I don’t believe that he is afraid of us,” Federico said, sounding so very certain of that. A few years ago, Giovanni would have assumed that this was wishful thinking, evidence of his son feeling that no-one who was good could fear them simply because Federico himself could not see their family as something to be feared.

Federico was no longer simply a child, though, he had grown into a fine young man and he was no longer blind to the ways of the world, even when they were the kind of things that one might not wish to face. So Giovanni listened patiently as the Novice Assassin in front of him shared his own observations. 

“Desmond needs to feel useful. He didn’t fully react to me until I told him that there was still a danger to our family, that we could use another Assassin. Let him share in my missions,” his son quietly insisted, “I know you don’t want to push him, but treating him like a Novice might make him more comfortable here instead of less.”

Like a Novice? Hmm… “No,” Giovanni decided, “I think he has been treated as a weapon for far too long already. But I will agree to providing him with chores - I will treat him like I would _you_ , Federico, and Ezio. And you will look after him, yes?”

Federico met his eyes with a steadfastness that made him so very proud. “I will.”

Good. Their new Novice could use a little looking after. Giovanni felt almost certain that the boy hadn’t had nearly enough of that in life so far.

No matter. If Desmond’s father had failed in that regard, then all the better that the young man was with them now instead.

* * *

Desmond climbed down the outer walls of the city and made his way with Ezio towards the gates. Apparently it was time for the Auditore to get the hell out of here, and somehow that included him. 

It was Ezio who did the talking and got them the horses. Desmond stared at the creature he was supposed to climb up on. Somehow, despite growing up on what was ostensibly a farm, horseback riding wasn’t really a thing for him. Yeah, he kind of remembered doing it in the Animus but the reality of it was… a strange idea.

It was kind of like the first time he used the other skills he gained from Altaïr and Ezio in real life, something he’d sort of done before but not really. Such as infiltrating a secure location, killing people, death defying stunts on rooftops. 

And now those would be followed by horseback riding, apparently. Because that was the plan.

Paola had arranged a coach for Maria, Claudia and Petruccio to take them to Monteriggioni, but the Auditore could not simply ride it out of the city without being noticed. No, they had to sneak out while the coach would be brought outside of the city by one of Paola’s people. 

Federico and Giovanni would be there to guide their more vulnerable family members out of Florence as unobtrusively as possible.

Ezio and Desmond, on the other hand, were to sneak out of the city on their own and to procure horses for themselves and the other male Auditore. Then they would meet the others safely out of sight from the city walls.

Which, you know, was a pretty solid plan. And since Desmond remembered the hassle Ezio had run into during his own escape to Monteriggioni, he hadn’t bothered to protest his inclusion in it – better for Ezio not to be alone in case something happened. Who knew how history had changed, after all.

“Are you coming, Desmond?” came the familiar voice of Ezio from up in front of him. He broke his stare-down with the brown mare to look at his Italian ancestor. 

The young man was already in the saddle, the reigns of a second horse tied to his own.

“Right,” Desmond said, shooting the horse he was meant to ride another dubious look. “I’ll just… get on it then.”

He ascended the saddle much more smoothly than he had expected, and from the soft chuckle that came from his companion, most of that surprise showed on his face. Desmond shot him a look that did absolutely nothing to supress the amused smile on Ezio’s face. 

“You look like you’ve never been on a horse before. Surely this is not your first time?” the young man asked him.

And well, admitting to that would have been weird, wouldn’t it? How was Desmond supposed to have come to Florence without a horse? On foot? Were there people in this time period that could go all of their lives without riding a horse? 

He didn’t actually have a clue and there was no Shaun to prattle about historical facts.

“…I’m a decent enough rider,” Desmond said instead, because Altaïr and Ezio had been skilled horsemen and _surely_ some of that would bleed over just as their other skills had?

Ezio nodded agreeably, but that smile never left his lips. “Of course. But since I know Florence and its surroundings better than you do, perhaps you will allow me to lead? The other horses will simply follow mine.”

It wasn’t actually a question, just a nice and polite way to call him on his bullshit without actually calling him out. It suited the well-educated man Ezio had been raised to be, and in the future-that-was the Italian Assassin had never really shook off those manners despite spending an inordinate amount of his time around thieves, prostitutes and, well, Assassins.

Desmond wasn’t the least bit offended, so he shrugged and did his best to copy Ezio’s posture on the horse. “Lead on,” he agreed mildly.

Thankfully Ezio turned out to be right, the mare Desmond was riding hardly needed any encouragement to trod after the one in front of her. And after some time in the saddle, the oddness of it slowly wore off and he could lean into the instincts he’d gained somewhere in his mind and allowed him to lean into the creature’s movement.

It wasn’t bad. He’d prefer his motorcycle, but it wasn’t bad.

* * *

Giovanni was the first to notice their approach, the man stood at the ready, guarding the rest of his family. His wife and the two youngest Auditore were clearly already inside of the coach and Federico was sitting up front, ready to leave on his father’s mark.

Desmond could see the Master Assassin’s stance relax when he identified them as friendly. Or perhaps the softening of his stance was from relief at the fact that Ezio had made it there safe and sound? After that close call at the gallows, he could imagine that Giovanni was somewhat reluctant to let any of his children out of his sight for long.

“No trouble?” the man asked them, looking Ezio over carefully for any sign of injury before turning those assessing eyes to Desmond and scanning him in turn.

Huh. Desmond blinked back at the man, caught off guard by the fact that he was also a subject to that. Whatever that was.

Ezio dismounted and smiled at his father. “None,” he affirmed, “It went well, father. No one took notice of us. And Desmond is a decent rider.”

Desmond shot the seventeen year old next to him a look. He could practically hear the added weight to those last words, no matter how innocently Ezio had uttered them.

Clearly so could Giovanni, judging by the man’s raised eyebrow.

Desmond sighed and dismounted as well – very carefully, because it wouldn’t do to give Ezio even more ammunition.

He was being _teased_ by the greatest Mentor who had ever lived. 

His life, man.

* * *

Monteriggioni was breathtaking. 

Whereas the rooftops of Florence had made Desmond feel as if he’d been caught in a bittersweet memory, an odd lingering mixture of nostalgia and sadness, seeing Monteriggioni was more like being punched in the gut with joy. It was painful and it was wonderful all at once.

“Monteriggioni,” Ezio needlessly informed him from where he was riding next to him. “It has been a while since we’ve visited uncle Mario.”

“The villa isn’t as comfortable as our Palazzo, but it’s not all that bad either. I know this place looks a little rough around the edges, but it is a place that will always welcome the Auditore,” Federico said and looked away from the sight in front of them to Desmond, a warm smile on his face, “or our brothers.”

Desmond didn’t have it in him to smile back at the man. All he could manage was a nod before his eyes strayed back towards the walled village.

It was rough, like Federico said. This was before Ezio had stared the repairs and sponsored businesses to bring the village back to its former glory. The villa would be in bad repair too, Desmond knew, though probably not as bad as it had been in his time.

It didn’t matter, though, because all Desmond could see was a place that had felt more like home than any other. “It’s wonderful,” he finally managed to say, his voice whisper-soft and bordering on reverent.

* * *

Mario was just as much of a force of nature as the rest of the Auditore. He was louder than Giovanni and he greeted Desmond with a firm handshake, followed by a presumably friendly thump on his shoulder.

“Nice to meet you,” he mumbled and stepped back from the lively family reunion. He waited until they were all distracted by each other and hightailed it the hell out of there to get a bit of breathing room.

He didn’t go far, though, he just went _up_ \- onto the villa’s roof which held a good spot that allowed him to look out at both the city and the surrounding Tuscan plains.

Seen through his Eagle Vison the small city looked even more familiar, because it marked out to him the blacksmith that Ezio had patronized, the rundown church that would one day regain its former glory and below Desmond, in the villa empty of the paintings and armour it once held, figures cast in a blue, friendly light.

* * *

“My father and uncle informed me about the Brotherhood,” Ezio spoke up from where he had joined Desmond on top of one of the watchtowers. “He told me that you, like us, are also an Assassin.”

Ah, it was about time. Ezio had already started putting together the pieces, no doubt, but apparently Giovanni had wanted to initiate Ezio into the Brotherhood after they were safely out of Florence. 

“I learned some things, yes,” Desmond answered because he could hardly deny having received training as an Assassin, “but I’m hardly a Master Assassin like your father.”

“You saved my family. A greater Assassin I could not hope to find,” the teenager at his side stated much more gravely than his age would suggest.

“… thanks,” Desmond said, looking away and feeling awkward as hell.

When he finally dared to look back at him, Ezio was giving him an odd look. 

“What?” he asked.

“You look exactly like him,” the young Assassin breathed out.

“Like…?” and then it dawned on him, the group had been down in the Sanctuary to induct Ezio into the Brotherhood, So that meant... “Altaïr,” he realised out loud, “Of course. Please don’t start on that ‘noble bearing’ crap that your brother did.”

“When did you speak to Federico? I came to find you right away.”

Desmond shook his head. “Back in Florence. It doesn’t matter.”

“Ah, so it is not just a trick of my mind,” Ezio said, sounding satisfied. “Not if my brother also thought as much even without a statue to compare you against.”

“Ezio…” he spoke up more to stop the other man from talking than for having anything to say. “We are not our ancestors,” he finally said. “I’m not my father and I’m glad of that. I’m not Altaïr either and wouldn’t want to be. We forge our own paths, don’t we? Sure, we see what others before us did that was good and might use some of their ideas or ideologies, but the world is different now than it was before and it will continue to change. Altaïr was a fine Mentor, but his own path was not without mistakes. Who knows, _you_ might become a better Mentor than he ever was.”

“Me?” Ezio repeated, looking astonished, “Why not father or Federico?”

Desmond looked at him, really looked at the Ezio of the here and now – the one who had a father and an older brother to lead the way. An Ezio who might never become what he had been in the before.

Ezio could have been great. No, no that was not right. Ezio could _still_ be great. Desmond had seen it, had lived it. The man had been a natural leader and was everything the Brotherhood had needed to rise to new heights. He had cared – about his Novices and about the people, about improving their cities and fortunes and life. 

For all that the Italian Mentor had killed, he’d also built. Constantly improving his home, himself and pretty much anything he came across.

“Why _not_ you?” Desmond said with far too much conviction in his voice, more invested in this than he had any right to be. “Your father is already walking his path – one different from most Assassins, at that. They’re not usually in anyone’s service.” 

He frowned and added more quietly. “It’s people on a whole that we serve, not politics. Not that those two things can’t coincide, I guess. And for now Federico follows in his father’s footsteps. He might find his own way, or not.” 

Ezio tilted his head to the side, examining him as if he was some sort of foreign creature.

Well, he was, so yeah. But. 

“You disapprove of my father’s way?” Ezio asked, but he didn’t sound offended.

Desmond shrugged. “Lorenzo de' Medici seems a decent enough leader. I just meant that getting involved with politics… is tricky. It tends to end badly. Your father is a good man, though, so even if he makes mistakes on this path he walks, he will do his best to fix them. It’s just that…” he sighed and shook his head, not even sure what he’s even trying to say. He just knows that if he had been the Mentor in his time, he would have done a thousand things different. Starting with Clay. With Lucy. But there’s no way he could explain that, now could he?

Although…

“My father did a great many things I don’t agree with. Enough that I just about left the Brotherhood altogether,” Desmond said, the words coming out surprisingly steady despite the rapid beating of his heart at this confession, “I’m not really an Assassin, I don’t even know what I am. But if I am… If I _am_ an Assassin, then I will do it differently than him. The Assassins are supposed to be a Brotherhood. It’s supposed to be made up of brothers and sisters who look out for each other, who believe in each other. It could be so much more than what it is. Right now it’s splintered, without a Mentor or anything more binding us together than our Creed. Even your father and your uncle have different ideas about what it should be. I guess I do too. I-” He shook his head, he was screwing this up. 

“I think you should find your own way, is all,” he finished lamely.

The newly initiated Assassin stayed quiet for a moment, looking out over the countryside and then he turned towards Desmond, dark eyes already sharp despite his age. “Why not you then? As a Mentor?”

He ducked his head, his shoulders coming up defensively. “I’m not- ” he swallowed, finding it hard to put into words. Desmond felt too damaged, really, too out of place and in over his head to lead _himself_ anywhere, let alone anyone else. “I’m not strong enough for that, Ezio,” he finally said without looking at the man.

“I’ve seen you fight,” Ezio rebutted immediately, “You were efficient, fast, capable. You _are_ strong, Desmond.”

He stayed silent for a moment, gathering himself. Then he managed to look up and gave the other young man a sad smile. “There are different types of strength,” he said quietly. “Never mind, Ezio, it doesn’t matter.” 

Desmond stood up, putting a clear end to the conversation that he no longer wanted any part in. He was bungling it anyway, and wasn’t even sure what he’d meant to say in the first place.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. He did know what he had wanted to say: that Ezio was the greatest Mentor he’d ever seen and the only one that Desmond truly believed in. But _this_ Ezio was not _that_ Ezio, so…

“See you later,” he mumbled, making a hasty retreat.

Thankfully Ezio did not follow. Small favours.

* * *

Monteriggioni was both familiar and not in many ways. It was odd, to be here in a time _before_. 

His own memories from hiding out here were the ruins of a city that once was something more. Yes, it was a good thing that Monteriggioni had been resettled and was still populated in Desmond’s day, but it had been somewhat painful to see all of Ezio’s hard work been and gone. 

Now he was here in a time before all of that – before the destruction but also before Ezio had made this his home. When Ezio had first come here he’d been broken-hearted and filled with the drive of vengeance. Sure, he’d used his money to rebuild the city, but that had at first been more for his family’s sake than his own. And while it had eventually become somewhat of a home to Ezio, he hadn’t mourned it as he had his childhood home in Florence. Even his uncle’s death hadn’t cut him as deeply as that first, inescapable loss.

Of course, that hadn’t happened this time. Yes, they were still mostly staying away from Florence for now, though Desmond knew Giovanni had gone there many times in the past few weeks meeting with Lorenzo or perhaps even on assassination missions to take out the other members of the Pazzi conspiracy. 

The thing is, Ezio’s first home wasn’t lost, not irreparably, because his family was still with him. And that was also what made this time in Monteriggioni so odd.

It was good, of course, but also strange. Because Madonna Maria wasn’t the shell of a woman she had become after the loss of her husband and her eldest and youngest child. No, she was formidable, an undeniable presence that was just as solid a corner stone of the Auditore family as her husband. 

Desmond privately admitted to avoiding her at times.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, he just wasn’t sure how to act around her. His own mother had been very different in every way - for all that she was an Assassin, she had yielded to Bill in just about everything. She’d been distant to him, a trainer more than a mother. 

Madonna Maria on the other hand was strong, assertive, but also loving. She guided her children with a firm stance and a gentle hand. And for some reason she’d decided to do the same with Desmond.

And that was fine. Because he didn’t mind pulling his weight – doing chores for Maria in town or going on more Assassin-like ventures for Giovanni, often together with Ezio or Federico depending on whether the mission was something as simple as delivering a letter or somewhat more difficult like robbing a Templar. 

Giovanni hadn’t asked him to carry out any assassinations. Which was… good? Maybe. Or not? Desmond was clearly capable and wouldn’t have hesitated to take on any of the men Ezio had assassinated in the former timeline – in a way he felt like he had already killed them before.

He would have done it. But Giovanni, for some reason, hadn’t asked him to. Instead it was the man himself, along with Federico, who were slowly doing away with their enemies. 

The facts of these missions were spoken of only in the Sanctuary, during late-night meetings that included Mario, Ezio and for some reason Desmond.

It should have made him feel out of place, but it was actually kind of nice, being back down there with a group of Assassins - who included him even when he wasn’t being particularly useful.

* * *

“Desmond, please wait for a moment,” Giovanni requested, when their meeting was over and his Assassin-initiated family started leaving the Sanctuary.

The young man dutifully stopped from where he’d been following Ezio and turned back to face him. Desmond said nothing but waited patiently while the others ascended the stairs out of the underground room. The young man was always so self-contained - never loud, never angry and perfectly content to keep to himself as he wandered around Monteriggioni. Even so, the boy always seemed willing to take on any chores Maria gave him and when Giovanni’s children insisted on drawing him into their own activities he acceded more often than not.

And when Giovanni gave him a task fit for a Novice, the young man fulfilled it easily, without comment, flair or even pride. 

As a Master Assassin, this was exactly the kind of Novice one would want. Perfectly capable, well-trained, willing and unlikely to cause any trouble.

So very different from his sons, or even his daughter, who were just as capable and willing but also were bright and loud and lively. 

Of course, when Ezio or Federico caused trouble or a minor scandal, they were always able to get themselves, or each other, out of it. 

It made the part of Giovanni that was a father quietly furious, to see the lack of any of that in this boy who had a kind heart, but who looked baffled at any kindness bestowed on him.

That was why he had waited. While he had initiated Ezio into their Brotherhood, given him the cloak and hidden blade, he’d waited for Desmond to feel more comfortable amongst them, not just in the hopes of making him feel like part of the _Auditore_ instead of just an Assassin, but also in the hopes of giving him at least some of that childhood.

But Desmond was skilled as an Assassin and had proven it, from their very first meeting onwards and like Giovanni’s sons, he had earned the right to wear their colours - if he so desired.

“I’ve asked you to do several tasks for me over the past weeks and you fulfilled them all with as much skill as Federico,” Giovanni said, a careful start to this conversation, because he couldn’t know how Desmond would take it. The boy had run away from home, from his Assassin father and while Federico had seemed to be proven right about Desmond wanting to feel useful, Giovanni didn’t want to press too hard and drive the boy away.

“I don’t mind helping,” Desmond stated plainly. “And I would be more than capable of the work of an Assassin, if that’s what you need.”

Giovanni froze for a moment, his body tensing to hide away any further sign of his surprise. That was not something he’d been meaning to bring up, not yet. Not for some time. “You would kill for me?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

At that Desmond frowned. “It wouldn’t be for _you_ ,” he answered and for the first time that Giovanni had spoken to him there was a strength, a force in his words. A conviction.

In response, Giovanni found his own rigid stance relaxing.

After a long moment, Desmond looked away from him, at Altaïr’s statue. “ _Naemal fi alzalam likhidmat alnuwr_ ,” he spoke quietly, the Arabic falling from his lips with natural ease.

“What does that mean?” Giovanni asked him, because those were not the words of the Creed.

Desmond turned to him with a soft, sad smile. “We work in the dark to serve the light.”

“You were already initiated,” he realized, the words coming out with his breath. Hadn’t Giovanni thought that their saviour was a Master Assassin at first? His fluid movements, his swift, purposeful assassination of Uberto - all of it flawless save for one thing.

The boy had hesitated, had paused afterwards as if coming to terms with what he had just done. Not the action of a fully-fledged Assassin.

“No,” Desmond admitted, dropping his chin and looking away from him. “I was trained… I never completed my training. I ran away before I could ever truly become an Assassin.”

Giovanni stepped closer, reaching out towards this young man who was not in need of training, but who needed a home and perhaps some guidance more than anything.

“You are on a level with my sons, Desmond. So let me talk to you as forthrightly as I would with them,” he spoke gently, putting his hand on Desmond’s shoulder - which drew the younger man’s eyes to him. “I asked you to stay because I had robes made for you, one that matches Federico’s and Ezio’s and my own. Should you wish to wear it, as a Novice Assassin, than I would be happy to teach you and guide you as I do my sons.”

Desmond’s eyes widened and he stayed silent for a long moment, before he visibly swallowed. “Robes?” the young man repeated, his voice oddly hoarse.

Giovanni softened, smiling at his charge. “Yes. Should you want them. But know that if you never wish to become an Assassin, my home will still be open to you.”

“I-” Desmond shook his head, stepping away from him. Giovanni let him go. He waited patiently for an answer, if any was to come. And while part of him almost expected a refusal, the larger part did not. Not after hearing the conviction in the young man’s voice, after hearing those Arabic words and their translation.

His patience was rewarded when Desmond turned back to him, a rueful look on his face. “Alright. Thanks, I guess?”

“You’re welcome, Desmond,” Giovanni said, and he meant it.

* * *

The robes Giovanni had given him were not as stark white as is Hoodie, nor as soft. It was a courser fabric, thick and sturdy and edged with a brilliant red. 

Desmond donned them for the first time. They felt unexpectedly heavy.

He ignored the odd feeling he got from wearing something like this in person and went off to meet Ezio. Together they would leave for Florence to bring messages to Lorenzo and several of Giovanni’s other contacts.

Ezio was already waiting for him, sitting on the very edge of one of the towers, his cape billowing around him like a sheet fluttering in the wind. 

“Ah, look at you, Desmond. It suits you well, I think, _fratello_.”

Desmond looked down at himself, brows furrowed. “Does it?” he asked, not in the least bit convinced that he was in any way fit for wearing these.

A hand on his arm drew him from his thoughts. “It does,” his Italian ancestor answered with a warm smile and complete and utter confidence. “Come, time for us to go. You can show off your riding skills, and I promise I will be most impressed,” Ezio teased him lightly.

He huffed out a laugh, because Ezio was Ezio and it was hard not to be drawn in. It seems to be an Auditore trait, actually.

To be fair, Desmond didn’t try all that hard to resist.

* * *

While Desmond was sent out on errands, the nature of those small missions hadn’t changed in any significant way since his conversation with Giovanni and receiving his very own Assassin robes. 

No, it was Giovanni, Mario and Federico, who played the largest roles in handling the Pazzi conspiracy. Ezio had joined Federico, had killed, Desmond was pretty sure, but he hadn’t talked to the young man about it. Wouldn’t even know where to begin.

But that was alright, because aside from Mario, Ezio also had his parents and his older brother. He didn’t need Desmond to lean on, which was good because he was more than a little messed up when it came to things like killing. The Animus messed with your head in more ways than one.

In any case, the Auditore seemed to have it all well in hand. So Desmond did his part, helped out where he could and everything turned out surprisingly fine. 

With the conspiracy mostly taken care of, and assurances from Lorenzo that the Auditore name had been cleared, the family was ready to return to Florence. And there seemed to be the unspoken understanding that Desmond would be coming with them. 

“The threat is gone, though,” Desmond said, forcing himself to not fidget under the scrutiny of the eldest Auditore brother. 

“Yes,” Federico agreed, “That’s why it is safe to return to Florence now.”

Well, yes, Desmond got that, thank you. But that wasn’t the point. The point was… well. Why would he even be coming with them? They had no need for him in Florence – there was nothing there that Giovanni, Federico and Ezio together couldn’t handle. 

Hell, there’s nothing that Desmond knew of that even _one_ of those three Assassin’s couldn’t eventually manage by themselves. 

“I’d be more useful here,” he awkwardly offered. Sure, Desmond didn’t quite get on with Mario – the man didn’t seem to dislike him or anything but neither one of them seemed to be sure what Desmond was even doing here. At least, that was the impression he got - it’s not as if he’d actually _asked_ the man what he thought about Desmond. But Monteriggioni had been somewhat of a home to him once, so there was that.

With all of the Auditore together, dismantling the Pazzi conspiracy hadn’t taken as long as before. But that also meant that there hadn’t been enough time, or inclination, to bring the city back to his former glory. There were repairs to be made – to the church, the shops, the villa. 

Desmond could help. Be useful. If Ezio ever wanted to come back here, Monteriggioni would be here, and it would be defended. He hadn’t forgotten what Cesare had done to the place.

He would _never_ be able to forget that.

“Here? In Monteriggioni?” Federico asked and instantly went on, without waiting for a reply. “If uncle Mario has need of us, he will let us know and we will come.” The Assassin came up next to him, slinging a friendly arm around his shoulder in a way that was starting to feel familiar. “I know you haven’t been in Florence long, but it’s been a home to us for many years and I am certain it will be the same to you.”

Desmond turned his head to stare at him. “A home?” he repeated. 

It sounded even more ridiculous coming from his own mouth. 

Yes, he had just considered staying in Monteriggioni for the sort-of-home it had once been to him – due to Ezio’s feelings as well as his own – but that was more nostalgia than anything real. How could Desmond, of all people, have a home in the Florence of the 15th century?

Federico met his eyes squarely, not looking away despite the silence between them lengthening. Despite the fact that the Auditore was only a Novice in his twenties, wasn’t wearing his Assassin regalia or making any kind of threat, he looked strangely fierce. 

It was Desmond who folded and broke their stare by looking away.

He heard Federico sigh next to him and when he instinctively turned back towards the sound, the man’s previously imposing posture had relaxed into something softer. “Come home with us, Desmond,” the Auditore insisted, his tone oddly gently now. “There is a place for you there, I can promise you that. Do not start running away again now.”

Running away? Desmond wanted to argue, because that wasn’t what he was doing it all. But. Well, he _had_ literally run off into the night in Florence so perhaps it was a fair point.

But this wasn’t like the farm. This wasn’t Desmond running away from his responsibilities, but instead trying to own to them. To find something useful to do in the here and now instead of being a burden on a family who’d had more than enough to bear.

Even if they did it so very enthusiastically.

“I’m not running away,” he said, “I-”

“Good,” Federico interrupted, with that smile that meant either trouble to come or the man getting away with something. “Then it’s time to pack, _fratello_. For we are going home!”

* * *

Desmond looked at the room he’d been given in the Auditore Palazzo. It was right next to Ezio’s, which was probably why the other young man was now insisting on helping Desmond unpack. 

Considering that he’d arrived in this time with literally nothing, it was rather baffling to see how much stuff he’d gathered in little over a month. 

On the run as he had been, Desmond always needed to be able to pack up easily, to leave at a moment’s notice. He hadn’t had non-essential items like these since the farm. 

“There, that’s better. Does this not feel more like home?” Ezio said, sounding very satisfied with himself, and Desmond turned to see that the young man had hung a small painting on the previously empty wall across from the bed. It was an outdoor scene featuring a field with red flowers straining up towards a group of birds in flight, the colors reminded him of nothing more than an Assassin’s cloak. The bird’s wings looked incredibly real and the soft blue of the sky was soothing.

“Leonardo started painting it a few weeks ago, when I told him your new room would be utterly bare otherwise,” Ezio went on to inform him, “I’m glad he managed to finish it in time.”

Desmond didn’t answer, he just stared at the painting. It wasn’t a known painting from Da Vinci as far as he knew. And didn’t the man usually paint people? Religious scenes or portraits? This was neither of those things, nor was it any work he’d ever seen before. 

But apparently it _was_ a painting made by Leonardo Da Vinci. And it was meant to hang in Desmond’s room. Because that made sense.

So yeah, Desmond just… stared.

Ezio laughed. “Stunned silent, _fratello_? Leonardo will be pleased!”

He shook his head and turned to look at Ezio - the young man looked just as pleased, dark eyes warm and a fond smile on his lips. This was Ezio as he’d rarely seen him through the Animus, the side of him that the harsh years had pushed away into rare moments of indulgence.

“It’s really great,” Desmond finally said, smiling back at the younger version of Ezio who could still smile like this freely.

“Ah, I’m very glad that you like it!”

“And you can stare at it as much as you want later,” Federico interrupted them, leaning casually against the door opening. “For now you must come downstairs, for _madre_ has sent me to collect my wayward brothers for dinner.”

Brothers, Federico called them in one breath, as if Desmond belonged here as much as Ezio did. Which was… insane, probably.  
But. 

While the two Auditore devolved into sibling teasing as they ambled out of the room, Desmond glanced back at the painting once more, at the strangely welcoming room that was meant to be _his_ in the Palazzo that had been the only place that Ezio had ever truly called home.

He didn’t know how or why he’d even ended up here - how had he somehow become a part of the Assassins of this time? Because that wasn’t something he’d set out to do. If anything he had tried to do the opposite - had tried not to get involved but… he already was, wasn’t he? No use denying that now.

He took a deep breath and something in him settled. 

Federico glanced back, to where Desmond had lingered in the door opening. 

Desmond shook his head, trying to convey that it was nothing, and followed after the two.

The look the man shot him was not unfamiliar, he recognized it as Federico’s way of evaluating, of checking that all was well. Desmond suspected that this particular look was because the Assassin expected him to run away – that Federico was ready to take off after Desmond at a moment’s notice, to haul him back home like an errant little brother. 

Which, he supposed, was not unlike what Federico had done after Desmond had left La Rosa Colta.

It had made sense to Desmond at the time, to leave. It hadn’t felt like running away but more like an unwilling duty, something to get over and done with. 

But right now, looking at the two brothers in front of him, alive and whole despite their lives as Assassins, Desmond knew that this time he wouldn’t run. This wasn’t the farm, this was Ezio’s family and there was very little Desmond wouldn’t do to keep it unbroken.

So yeah, if he had a life to live in this time, then perhaps it only made sense that Desmond would do it as an Assassin - a _true_ Assassin, one that was part of a Brotherhood. An Assassin like Ezio had been and no doubt would become again, no matter what roads his new life would lead him down. It wouldn’t be a life without strife, they were Assassins after all and Desmond wouldn’t fool himself into thinking he could prevent all of the pain and tragedy that lay ahead.

But the Auditore were together, they were a family and they were strong in all the ways that mattered.

And Desmond was not... not anything close to that, really. He was just a guy who had left – left his parents and the Assassins and everything that came with it. But somewhere along the way he had found his way again, before the end.

Only the end wasn’t the end.

He might not be the skilled, steadfast and personable Mentor that Ezio would turn out to be, or be as steady in his course as Giovanni or as confident as Federico. But Desmond was an Assassin, and for whatever good it would do - he would be right there along with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (That one Arabic line is just google translate stuff, so possibly entirely wrong. But I didn’t want him to do the same old ‘nothing is true’ quote, so I just went for it. If anyone actually knows Arabic and knows the real translation I’d love to know.)
> 
> I would also really love knowing which one of these scenes you liked best? Or if there were any that didn't really work/fit all that well into this story?

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Assassin's Creed: Revival](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25597585) by [Anastasian_Dreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anastasian_Dreamer/pseuds/Anastasian_Dreamer)




End file.
